


Warden of a Prison for the Mind, Body and Soul

by LettersofSky



Series: Distant Past Zine Pieces [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Clown Religion, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-23 17:20:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21085007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LettersofSky/pseuds/LettersofSky
Summary: When a motherfucker rips his own pan open to hear those most blessed and sacred of Church teachings, then he opens himself up to be put to his proper use :o)





	Warden of a Prison for the Mind, Body and Soul

**Author's Note:**

> I may... have made four additional pieces for the Distant Past Zine: https://twitter.com/distantpastzine  
May have written something for each of the Ancestors that hadn't had a writter for them.  
I absolutely adore the clowns and purplebloods of Homestuck, the Makaras are so good so of course I took the opportunity to do some murder clown pope stuff :o)  
Actually the first and last stanza type things started out as dialogue from a different character in a different thing I've been slowly working on and I expanded upon it here because using one piece of writing to join to another is a thing that I can do yes. >:3c

_Twisted bodies left to rot in the streets_  
Turning labyrinths a thought and terror with no chance of escape  
Pans shattered and broken by the Mirthful whims of the Messiahs on High  
His and others bare to them for their most righteous a judgements

The Grand Highblood of Alternia’s Mirthful Church, one Kurloz motherfucking Makara to those that lived to be blessed with the knowledge of it, was… the most righteous of motherfuckers. Ain’t ever was another motherfucker that was as dedicated, as motherfucking devote as he was. Ain’t no one ever had a touch more refined, more designed and fated to be reaching into the pan of the most motherfucking blasphemous, the most wretched of the wretched and non-believers, to tear them all kinds asunder.

And perhaps he’d practiced on those he wasn’t supposed to have ever wanted harm upon, perhaps he’d turned his Chucklevoodoos upon Church kin and those of like colour or those that were meant to be the nearest and dearest to his pumper, but there was no place for such reservations when a motherfucker had been all kinds a fucking blessed with a purpose straight from the Messiahs’ maws. A kinmate, a pale or red bitch broken, shattered and thrown away was a small price to pay for what the Messiahs had decided he was destined for, what they all on high had motherfucking decreed.

And perhaps still, the Messiahs had called upon him to tear open his own pan, to bleed in both the physical and mental planes alike for them, to open himself to their whispers and mutterings so that they could guide he and his kin alike into greatness and that flourishing mirthful bliss that was so motherfucking owed to them so that the world may be ripe for the Messiahs to lay all to motherfucking waste as they so decreed. As was motherfucking assured and decided upon long before the Church was even a creation given thought and form.

The Messiahs could and had called on Kurloz for any motherfucking thing of imaging and he would and had answered with claw and tooth, club and voodoos at the ready to do what they were needing of him. What the Church was needing of him.

He’d torn apart the previous Grand Highblood for them. The blasphemous motherfucker that was set on bringing all kinds a motherfucking shame onto the Church by agreeing to do as the Empress on deep and cold decreed with no care to faith or honour or anything that made the Church so much better than the motherfuckers good for no more than paint on their walls. He hadn’t been expecting one a his own to turn against him, foolish and arrogant in all kinds a ways that made him worse than what was needed for the Church. He hadn’t expected Kurloz, young as he’d been, to pull a pumper frozen by the horrors of endless wrathful ages from his chest cavity and parade it around the Church as was his own most sacred of motherfucking rights.

Kurloz hadn’t been able to free his kin from the Tyranny’s claws, but at least they weren’t being shepherded into decay by someone that should have motherfucking known better.

Then there came the call for the hideous little heretic, imbued with the most miraculous and holiest a colour that were meant to be the most motherfucking sacred of the Church. Kurloz had relished the hunt for it, blasphemous fool talking about peace and equality, of choice and kindness, like a fucking wriggler that ain’t ever learned its place in the proper order of the world around it. There wasn’t any place for questioning or rebellion on Alternia, not if he and his most holy of brothers and sister, carrying their Messiahs wants and wishes, had anything to say about it. The little heretic and its collection of stains onto history weren’t allowed to exist long past their capture.

Kurloz had witnessed the execution himself, ordered his most loyal and honour-bound of motherfuckers to carry out the holy deed all personal like, made an example of it all so that any other thought of rebelling or questioning were stamped out in a single show of Highblood might. The terror of it had been the best kind a miracle; a brew all the Messiahs’ own design mixing from the heretic’s dying breaths, its disgrace of a Jade and the two Lowblood companions that thought they could deny the fate that had chosen for them, even the sweetest of concoctions ain’t been able to even dream of holding a candle to it.

Would have been better if his most disgraced and expunged of Executioners had carried through with his orders and slew the Olive where she knelt, but Kurloz would deal with him another day. Ain’t no one that had ever been able to escape the ire of the Church yet, they would tear him apart eventually. Kurloz could feel it in his pumper that the Darkleer’s horns would be a motherfucking adornment to his throne before Kurloz was passed from this world, certain as the Alternian moonrise.

After the blasphemous heretic came the Messiahs’ call for the Orphaner. Or maybe not. It was hard to tell what was the Messiahs’ most motherfucking sacred of orders and what was his own rage at the Sea-Dweller thinking himself so above them that he could just stride his way into his most blessed and sacred of throne rooms, hand Kurloz the knowledge that he’d been in the knowing of where exactly a criminal of Church and Ocean was hiding herself and expected to be able to get off free of consequence. A stint like that might have worked amongst the bottom-feeders of the deep but Kurloz was having none of it. The Sea-Dwellers thought themselves better than the Church, thought that a flutter of their fins and a display of gills would be all it took to get the Church to do as they wished.

Kurloz was motherfucking delighted to prove a notion such as that wrong. The violet looked all kinds a pretty on the walls of his throne room and mixed with the looks on the faces of the next bottom-feeders thinking him and his kin tame and under control, well it was almost worth the loss of his Neophyte.

But such was the motherfucking price for bringing forth the version the Messiahs sung of in tunes of starlight, horror and bleeding.

Then the Messiahs fell silent, fell silent and plotting and planning as the world continued to progress towards what they were wanting of it, towards the vision Kurloz was the most motherfucking proud to be able to bring to them. But then the blasphemous winged rebel maker showed his hand and Kurloz was set on his way to tear him apart, rip the hideous abnormalities from his spine and the questioning from his pumper until he was well-behaved and brought back into the Empire’s purpose for him.

Or he’d cull him.

Kurloz wasn’t the most picky of motherfuckers and if fate turned to wanting the winged-abomination and his assisters erased from the world (and hello to you Neophyte-culler your presence has been all kinds a noticed don’t you worry none he’ll be getting to you destroyer of one of the Messiahs’ faithful tools before too long) then who was Kurloz, so motherfucking devote and dedicated to the Messiahs and what the Church was all kinds of striding towards, to deny their wanting?

Wouldn’t be a motherfucking gentletroll if he weren’t to do what was asked of him, would he? And who was he to start playing at being a faithless motherfucker this late into the way of things? Wasn’t proper of him to question the want of the Messiahs, so Mirthful in their Mercy and Condemnation in kind, wasn’t proper of him to do anything but bring those that wandered from the truth and reasons of things back into the places they were supposed to be motherfucking content in occupying.

Kurloz had a purpose; had a set of instructions, rules and operations whispered to him in dreams and visions that were in need of following and motherfucking completing before the world was ushered all sweet like into what the Messiahs had shown through the dreaming of those motherfucking blessed enough to have seen it.

But Kurloz wasn’t gonna be the one alive to see things brought into the Messiahs’ vision.

And that was all kinds a motherfucking fine.

He wasn’t gonna be the one that ushered in the Mirthful destruction and mayhem that the Messiahs were all up and promising them, but he was gonna be laying all kinds of motherfucking groundwork, that most motherfucking solid of foundations, for those that would be there, the ones that would motherfucking serve and work towards the Messiahs’ wants and desires and he wasn’t gonna be there but he’d be overseeing the miracles slotting into their right proper places from his guaranteed place amongst the Grand Highbloods of years gone past within the highest of honours of the motherfucking Dark Carnival.

He’d be watching as the Church was led onwards to the Messiahs’ great vision, watching and reveling in all the motherfucking things to come as his brothers and sisters offering the world and all they were to the Messiahs as they were all up and motherfucking supposed to. Kurloz had decided upon it, had worked towards it during the entirety of his existence, torn apart rebellions and the most blasphemous of heretics the fates had to throw in the way of what was to be And there wasn’t any motherfucker that was gonna be stopping him now.

No. Not any motherfucking heretic, not any motherfucking rebellious little mutant, not even the motherfucking Empress spreading her endless depths a tyranny out to the farthest reaches of space could bring a halt to what was to come.

He would make sure of it.

_Come all ye and hear their most sacred a teachings_  
Fall into place and find all ya motherfucking contentedness  
Quell that rage in your chest and be rid of thoughts a questioning  
Else you find yourself within the embrace of the roads and stalls of the Dark Carnival most motherfucking divine


End file.
